Tripping into the rabbits bin
by Cooper101
Summary: One night after a fight with Sherlock, John sees Anthea... Dressed as a rabbit! That's the least of his worries as he falls down a bin where, to a place where nothing is as it seems... Sherlock version of Alice in Wonderland give it a go!
1. How it starts

**This is based on Alice in Wonderland, but more modern.**

**Give this story a chance and review please.**

**Spoilers for all episodes, but The reichenbach fall**

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_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The three shots fired out in the apartment of 221b Baker Street at around ten o'clock on a Sunday night in January. Despite the cold outside, it was nice, warm and snug inside. The world was calm and peaceful. This was the very reason the great consulting detective was firing at the wall. 'Calm' and 'peaceful' was considered 'dull' and boring'.

This is where our story begins, on that cold Sunday night in January at around ten o'clock, and it all starts with a bloody headache...

John groaned in protest as the shots rang out. Lying flat on his back in his bedroom his headache worsened at the loud noises. Could his flatmate give him a nigh off, just once? No, he couldn't.

The army doctor heaved himself off his bed and staggered towards his door. Opening it, he then leaned his head against the doorframe as he heard his friend saying 'bored' repeatedly. John walked down the stairs and into the living room just after another three shots rang out.

"Can you please stop shooting the bloody wall Sherlock?" John shouted, snatching the gun out of the detective's hand. Sherlock, who had been enjoying himself shooting at a picture of his brother – Mycroft – now stood on the table gun-less. He was in his pyjamas and wearing his blue dressing gown and was bare footed.

"I wasn't bored whilst I was shooting Mycroft," Sherlock said plainly, giving his flatmate a small glare before picking up his violin. John winced as a soft melody filled the air.

"No! Put it down," John shouted, snatching the precious instrument and placing it on the table. "Shouldn't you be working on a case?" John snapped – he really wasn't in a good mood.

"I'm taking a break... Like _you _said too. Anyhow, it's a four patch problem and you've taken my nicotine patches away, _remember_!" Sherlock shouted back. Clearly, he was frustrated about the fact that he couldn't figure out his case.

One frustrated Sherlock, one annoyed John...

One recipe for disaster.

"Well sorry for trying to stop you from damaging yourself!" John snapped.

"I don't need you to stop me from hurting myself... You're worse than Mycroft when we were both younger," Sherlock grumbled under his breath. He dramatically flopped onto the sofa. He curled up into a ball and faced the back of the sofa. John wasted no time in grabbing his coat from the armchair and putting it on.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder and watching John walk out the room.

"Getting some air. I've got a bloody headache," he shouted back at his flatmate as he slammed the front door shut.

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John made his way down the empty street. He'd been walking for nearly five minutes now and was desperately trying to keep what warmth he had inside him. He clung to himself, teeth chattering. He should have wrapped up.

Then magically, but unluckily for John, it began to snow.

The army doctor cursed as the white flakes began to fall. His head had become worse, turning from a headache to a migraine. As he looked up, he stopped. Sighing, he started to walk towards the figure up ahead.

Anthea – or so he had been told that was her name – was standing just up the street. She was always very annoying and always texting on her mobile. _What does Mycroft want now_? John thought as he walked towards her. Anthea always collected him when that man needed him for something.

However, as John drew closer, he noticed that she wasn't wearing... 'Normal' clothes. Stopping, he rubbed his eyes just to make sure he wasn't seeing thins. On her feet she had white high heel shoes and thin white leggings covered her tights. She also wore a white leotard, but with a soft fluffy looking skirt. However, none of this seemed too out of the ordinary, compared to what was on her head. What was upon her head, were rabbit ears. It was crazy, but, they actually looked as if they were part of her.

She turned and smiled at him.

"_Time to leave,_

_Fall down the hole,_

_On this cold eve,_

_To help the Hatter,_

_Save the White Queen,_

_You may not been keen,_

_Nevertheless, no one ever is, when it comes to the Mad Hatter..._"She shouted down the street to him. Before John could say a word, she turned round and jogged down the alleyway that she had been standing by. Regardless of how bad his head had now become, John ran after her. He tried not to skid on the snow that was quickly layering on the ground.

Looking down the alleyway in bewilderment, he saw Anthea giggle and tap her wrist twice – telling him to be careful of the time – just before she hopped into a Taylor wheelie bin. She left the lid open. John jogged after her.

However, very comically, John slipped on something and went head first into the bin. He didn't hit the bottom of the bin though; he just kept on falling...

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**What do we all think?**

**In the next chapter: John falls and has to drink the wine and take a pill.**

**Review please!**


	2. Wine and pills

**Woh, long chapter. Hope you can all stay with it until the end.**

**Enjoy.**

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John just continued falling...

He wasn't completely aware that he was falling until his phone slipped out of his pocket and he had to try and reach for it. John yelped as he twirled around and was looking upwards as he fell. Up above John could not see the hole through which he fell. There was nothing above him but the tunnel walls that he tried so hard not to hit. The walls were rock, lined with rubbish of all kinds – recycling, general waste, food – it was all there, all around him. The smell was unbearable and John tried to cover his nose.

Suddenly without a warning, John flipped once again in the air and found himself looking down at where he was falling. John just had enough time to shield his face with his arms before he painfully hit part of the wall that had started to grow out and across the tunnel. John shouted in pain as the collision sent him flying into the wall on the other side. His back smashed into the wall, and he was then flipped and thrown to the other side again, this time the whole front of his body hitting the wall.

The tunnel began to close in as John fell, and soon the walls were only an inch away from him. John tried to grab hold of something on the walls and ended up scrambling to stop himself from falling anymore.

He then suddenly hit the bottom of the tunnel, but instead of standing there, he fell through the bottom. John hit another tunnel bottom - and was glad that he didn't fall through it. He groaned as he had landed on his left side. Rolling over onto his back, he looked up at the 'ceiling' and at the hole he made. Focusing only on that, he noticed that it started to repair itself, the cracks began to disappear and the hole grew smaller until it was no longer there. After everything that had just happened, John just simply cursed. He climbed to his feet and looked around.

He stood in a great corridor about ten feet wide and twenty feet from floor to ceiling. The floor was covered in black and white squares as if it were a chessboard. The army doctor looked down both ways of the corridor and saw no one. The wallpaper was white with pretty roses on it; the ceiling was painted a light brown. As ridiculous as the tiles, wallpaper and ceiling where, they blended quite nicely. However, what stunned John the most was how many doors there were. There were thousands, all a centimetre away from the other, on both sides of the corridor.

John was unsure of what to do... He had no idea where he was or how to get back to where he had once been. Walking up to a door, he tried to open it, but it was locked. Trying another one, he was disappointed that it, too, was locked.

"Maybe a key would help," came a voice was behind. John turned to see Anthea down the corridor a bit, holding up a key.

"What on earth..." John didn't get to finish his sentence before Anthea sprinted off again. "Wait," John shouted before he could stop himself. "WAIT!" he shouted again and ran after her. She ran to the end of the corridor and turned. John ran with all his might after her, even though his bones protested. They still hurt from the fall. Anthea ran down the corridor a bit and then ran into one of the rooms, leaving the door wide open. John skidded to a halt and followed her into the room, only to stop.

The room was round with a dome shaped ceiling. There were exactly twelve doors with curtains above them that were held back to the side of the doors. The curtains were a deadly red and stood out against the stonewalls like a sore thumb. In the middle of the room was an old, white, rusted garden table with one chair. On the table were the key and a bottle.

John grabbed the key and started to try and open all the doors in the room.

"It's got to open one of them," John said aloud to himself. He tried one door, but the key was too small for the lock. He tried the door just in case, but it was still locked. Running from one door to the next, he tried every one of the twelve doors, but the key was too small for _ALL _the locks.

Annoyed and slightly out of breath, John sat down on the chair by the table. He gave a long sigh and looked round the room. His eyes lay upon the small bottle on the table. Slowly, he picked it up. The bottle was quite light. On the bottle was the words 'Drink me'. John took the top off with a 'pop' and sniffed the liquid inside it. It smelt strong.

"Hmmm, not whisky then... Wine maybe?" John said to himself. The army doctor didn't normally talk to himself, but then again, this wasn't a very normal evening was it now?

Suddenly, something caught his eye. Placing the bottle on the table and getting up, John walked over to one of the doors. He knelt down and pushed the tied up curtain aside. His eyes hadn't been placing tricks on him, there was a door there! Sadly though, it was about fifteen centimetres tall. Quickly and without thinking, John raced for the key and was then back on his knees again. The door opened. John took the key out of the keyhole and pushed the door open. He tried to look through. John saw another room, old and smelly. The room might have been an old warehouse.

John knew that he'd never get through. He propped himself up against one of the other doors holding the small key in his hand. Was there another way out? Then suddenly, a crazy thought struck in John's mind like lightening. Looking up, his eyes lay upon the small bottle. Something possessed him to drink it. Standing up and making his way over to it, he picked it up. He read the 'Drink me' label again and pondered. What if... What if it would shrink him to the size of the door? It was a stupid thought, mad even... However, madder things had happened that evening and John got a feeling that it wasn't about to end here. Placing the key on the table, he took the top off the bottle again.

He downed half of the small bottle and placed it back on the table again.

Nothing happened.

John felt even more stupid now that he knew nothing was going to happen. Maybe he should try all the others doors again or maybe even go out into the corridor again. Looking round though, he realised that the door he had entered through had closed and he wasn't sure if he knew which door it was anyhow. He was definitely stuck.

Without a warning, an electric shock surged through John's body. He was thrown forward and fell to the floor. His heartbeat quickened as a tingling feeling danced in his bones. He could feel that liquid coursing through his veins. Body shaking, John gasped suddenly as he could hear his bones creaking from pushing together.

Becoming smaller.

What seemed like ages lasted less than a few seconds. John opened his eyes, gasping for air. He was out of breath. Climbing to his feet, he checked himself over and saw that everything was fine. Disappointingly, it seemed that nothing had happened, but John was proven wrong as he turned and walked straight into a table leg. With a yelp and a _thump, _John landed on his face. Realising that he was the right height, he scrambled to his feet and ran at the door. Sadly though, the door had closed and when closed it locked. Therefore, John smashed straight into the door and fell to the floor. John jumped to his feet, grabbed the door handle, and tried to open the door.

"Damnit," John growled as he realised he need the key. The key, which was on the table.

Running over to the table, John looked up at it. He saw the key; he saw it out of his reach though. John jumped on the table leg and started to try to climb it. However, he just slid back down and landed on his bottom. John huffed as he stood on his feet. What would Sherlock do at a moment like this? He's fifteen centimetres tall for crying out loud! What on earth could he do at that flipping height?

John noticed something on the floor. He walked forward and picked up a small red and golden Chinese box. Opening it, there was a single pill placed inside.

The exact same pill that the cabbie used in The Study in Pink.

John inhaled and looked away, anywhere but at the pill. So, this is where he died. In a strange room, the size of half a ruler. His breathing had quickened, and John was unable to believe a thing that was happening. John wanted to wake up from this dream – no, this nightmare! Looking at the pill again, a thought struck him. There were two pills. One good pill and one bad pill. Maybe that pill was the good pill? Shaking, he picked up the pill and forced his hand to put it into his mouth. Chewing, John then swallowed the pill.

With a strange and powerful rush of adrenalin, John could feel himself start to grow. A warming feeling over took his body as he shot upwards. He tried to move before he hit his head on the table, but wasn't quick enough. When John started to grow even higher than his normal height, he knew that something wasn't right. He kept on growing until his head hit the ceiling but then, with a surge of panic, he stopped growing.

Okay, he was big enough to get the key, but too big to go through the door. John nodded as if Sherlock had told him the answer, and knocked the key off the table. He then reached for the bottle and drank the remaining half of the liquid. With an electric shock, John began to shrink again. He could feel it even more inside him this time.

When he reached the size of the door, he picked up the key and ran towards the door. He pushed the key into the lock and slowly turned it. With a small click the door opened and John walked through.

John wasn't quite sure what to make of _who_ was in front of him.

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**So who's clever enough to work out who's in the room?**

**Next chapter: John meets another familiar face and once again gets told to do the dirty work.**

**Review please.**


	3. The Caterpillar's quest

**Enjoy!**

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John stared at the figure in front of him and couldn't quite understand why he was there. In the middle of a big empty room, that was most likely in an old abandoned warehouse, stood the person that was most likely to be there, but still a surprise to see.

"Ah, so the Rabbit brought _you _then... Interesting, really." The man picked up a fat cigarette and took a good puff. "So what do they call you then?" he asked, blowing smoke in John's direction. John coughed violently as the grey smoke didn't smell like normal cigarette smoke.

"Mycroft!" John coughed as he stared at Holmes' elder brother. _Why on earth was he here? _He then looked down at Mycroft's legs. "You're half a caterpillar!" he half-shrieked, half-choking on the smoke that was being puffed at his face.

"Of course I'm a caterpillar, are you half blind or something?" Mycroft asked, finishing his cigarette then lighting another one. Blowing out smoke, he added, "Mycroft is quite a silly name to be known by, bit too long to say as well... Can't I call you something shorter?"

"No, that's not my name –"

"Then why did you say that it was? Silly little man – you are quite short actually, have people told you before?" the caterpillar (that looked like Mycroft) commented rudely. John clenched his jaw and tried to tolerate the man/caterpillar.

"My name is John," he said simply so that the other man could understand. "What do they call you?" he added. If he wasn't Mycroft then what was he meant to call him? Mycroft finished his cigarette again and went to light another one.

"I don't bother with a name... Call me what you like, but I'm usually known as The Caterpillar round here," he said starting the new cigarette. John stared at him, trying to think clearly with all the smoke in the room. "Would you like one?" The Caterpillar then asked, holding out a small cigarette box. John shook his head. "Right then, to the business as to why you are here."

"Business?" John echoed The Caterpillar's words, confused. John then noticed that the upper half of The Caterpillar was wearing a shirt, blazer and tie. The lower half was a dark blue and dark green stripped body of a caterpillar. He tried to focus more on the human part of the man.

"Yes, I have something that you should do... You'll be rewarded of course, whatever you want, name it," The Caterpillar insisted, pushing the smoke out of the way to see John better. There was quite bit of smoke in the room now.

"How about you send me home?" John questioned, holding his temper. John locked his eyes with The Caterpillar's. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Once, you've succeeded," he purred smiling, smoke escaping from his mouth. Suddenly, a loud noise could be heard from somewhere else in the building – like the crash of a door being knocked down violently. Mycroft's smile disappeared and he turned his body fully to look at a door in the far corner. The sound of men running up stairs was echoing behind the door.

"I'll make this quick," he said turning back to John. "You need to find The Mad Hatter and convince him to take the Case: find out what the Red Queen is trying to steal from the White Queen. You must help him and keep him on track. The Red Queen will try and stop you –" he was cut off as an even louder, and nearer than before, crash sounded.

John edged away, a feeling of dread filling up inside him.

"There here, run! Get away and find him!" barked The Caterpillar. John didn't budge. "Go!" he roared and John sprinted for the other door and ran as fast as his feet could carry him.

The sound of a door being broken down echoed down the corridor and the shouts of men could be heard as well. Suddenly, without a warning, John imagined himself back in Afghanistan, as he heard the single shot of a gun ring out. He stopped running as he realised that he was in more trouble than he thought he was. Hearing the sound of feet behind him, John continued to run. Finding a door that lead to some stairs, he practically flew down them and was unable to stop when he crashed into the door at the bottom. The door swung open and John stumbled out onto the street.

John gasped at the sight of the street. The sky was grey, along with the buildings. The buildings were giant, great things, but dark and dull, covered in overgrown greenery that reached even the top of them. Down on the ground, things looked as if a riot had passed through, but not recently. Everything looked old and untouched for some time. However, what unsettled John the most, was that the street was entirely empty. Not a soul was in sight.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs inside the building John had just come out from. He need to get away, he needed to find the Mad Hatter. Where to start though? Then John realised that the street he was in was only a ten minute walk from where Baker Street would be. Without a second thought, John raced off to his home, ready for whatever illusion awaited him inside.

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The Caterpillar was dragged by two men down a long fancy red painted corridor. The men were both wearing identical clothing: big black boots, black jeans, black motorcycle helmets and black tops with an 'R' and a 'Q' in gothic writing on, standing for Red Queen. The Caterpillar did find it incredibly stupid that the _Red_ Queen had soldier's in _black_ clothing.

Two mighty red doors were swung open and he was led into a throne room. The person on the throne was reading a book, probably unaware that a half-man half caterpillar was being dragged towards him. The men stopped when they were close to the throne and forced The Caterpillar to his knees.

"What have you brought me?" the person on the throne questioned, not looking away from their book. The guards shared a look before speaking.

"We've brought you The Caterpillar, Sir. The one that deals with all the White Queen's problems and worries," one said, and you could hear the fear in his voice. Who wouldn't be scared when standing in front of one of the most powerful people alive?

"Throw him in the dungeons for questioning," the person on the throne said, waving his hand and indicating to the door.

"Sir, there was another man with him, but he got away before we could tell who it was. We believe that he may cause some... Trouble for your master plan," the other guard said and the person on the throne lowered his book slightly, but not fully.

"Throw him in the dungeons for questioning. I shall ponder on what to do with this other man," the person said, and indicated to the door once again. The guards dragged The Caterpillar away and closed the door behind them.

The man was left in silence.

"Knave... Knave come here will you? I have something to ask of you," the person said and a man walked into the room from a door near the throne. He wore the same os most guards, but his jacket was redder. The Knave walked as if he was better than anyone else was.

"What is it that you require Your Majesty?" the Knave asked, kneeling before him.

"Were you listening?"

"No Sir, I would never dream of listening in on you like that -"

"Really? What a shame, it would save me time talking to you," replied the person on the throne. Lowering his book, the face of Jim Moriarty was visible. "Find this... Other man, and _kill _him..."

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John turned into Baker Street and wasn't surprised that it looked like most of the city – dull and covered in greenery. However, there was one house in the street which was brighter than the rest. Little Christmas lights hung from the windows and the lights inside were on as well. Looking behind him, he jogged across the road towards the flat. He looked at the door and knocked. A crash and a clatter were followed by "Come in!" and slowly John pushed open the door and walked into 221 b Baker Street...

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**In the next chapter: We meet the Mad Hatter.**

**Please review.**


	4. The Mad Hatter

**This was very fun to write.**

**Enjoy.**

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John opened the door to his home and took a step in slowly. The hall was dark and unlit. You were only able to see the stairs because of the light coming from upstairs. As John walked in, the door creaked shut. Looking back at the door, he wondered if this was such a good idea. There was no turning back now though. If John was going to get any answers, it was going to be here, in his home. Slowly, he started to make his way up the stairs. The sound of glasses breaking echoed then followed insane laughter.

Reaching the top of the stairs, John stared into the living room to see a group of three people, two of them gathered round the table where he and Sherlock would normally eat (when Sherlock actually ate).

"What is it that you want? If it is a case, I cannot take it, I'm waiting for the best," the man standing by the window shouted. John could make out in the dodgy light that the man wore a suit and a funny top hat that had bits of fabric sticking out from all over it.

"You haven't had a case in donkey years Hatter," a girl at the table said as John walked into the room. When she saw him, she dropped her cup of tea, causing the man in the funny hat to turn round.

It was Sherlock.

"Hatter!" the girl said breathlessly. "He looks normal... Like you!" the girl said eyes wide with a mixture of shock, excitement and fear. John's eyes widened when he saw her properly as he walked into the centre of the room. The girl had two big round mouse hears on her head, and her nose was in the shape of a mouse's as well, with great whiskers. John looked down at the chair she was sitting on and saw a thin tail wrapped around one of the chair's legs.

Yes, this all shocked John, but what shocked him the most, was that the mouse girl, was none other than Molly Hooper.

John blinked at the sight of his friends. Wait, were they even his friends? Molly had called Sherlock, Hatter and Mycroft had even said he had a different name. Should he play along with it? He was sent by The Caterpillar to make The Mad Hatter take the case and he clearly wasn't doing much.

"Em, you're The Mad Hatter?" John questioned, feeling a little uneasy under Sherlock's glaze. A moment of silence passed as he looked at John, both he and Molly wondering what he had to say.

"Yes," Hatter said suddenly, snapping out of whatever world he had entered. "Yes I am. I assume you are here with a case for me to take? The one The Caterpillar sent you to make me take," he said, turning away, picking up his violin and starting to play a soft, but mischievous melody. Turning away from everyone in the room, Sherlock grinned.

"But Hatter, he..." Molly started, but was cut off when Hatter turned around sharply.

"He is a client Mouse, please, don't stare," Sherlock said forcefully and Molly turned away, eyes watering a little. She began to fiddle with her flowered patterned brown dress.

"Hang on, how do you know that My- I mean, The Caterpillar sent me?" John asked, looking from Molly to Sherlock again. Sherlock looked up from Molly to him and smiled at him, almost... lovingly.

"I have my resources... This and the Hare over heard your conversation before the Red Queen's knight came," he commented, putting his violin back down again.

"Hare?" John echoed, confused about who that was.

"Hare," Hatter said, nodding at the half-man, half-hare sitting in the corner, knees to chest rocking softly and slowly, humming to himself. Cursing, John looked away. Henry Knight. Mad Henry Knight and his demon hound. John felt sorry that he was like that, with his big tattered hair and old dirty trousers and waistcoat.

Suddenly, the wind outside whispered against the window, causing them to rattle. The room turned cold as voices were heard. Slowly, Sherlock turned and looked at the window as the voices filled the room. They spoke in strange tongue.

"The Red Queen's knights are on their way... We should leave," Sherlock said, running into the kitchen and starting to put small bottles in his pockets. He then ran back into the room and picked up his coat. Putting it on, he ran back into the kitchen, putting more bottles in his coat pockets.

"We?" John echoed the single word, realising that his job wasn't over. He then remembered The Caterpillar's words. He had to 'keep him on track' – great.

"Mouse, Hare, both of you, please distract them whilst we climb out the window," The Hatter said as he opened the window. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, urgent and attention grabbing. This wasn't good. Molly jumped to her feet and jogged down to get it. Henry slowly unravelled himself and started to shakily move towards the door.

Sherlock looked out of the open window as saw the men advance into the house. Quickly before John could protest, he grabbed the doctor's wrist and dragged him out the window. The pair fell out of the window and to the left, landing on the canopy above Mrs. Hudson's shop, before sliding off it and landing harshly on the ground. Groaning, the army doctor rolled onto his side. He was more than sure that he had injured something badly. Sadly, there was no time to check or recover as the Red Queen's knights had realised that they had jumped from the window. Sherlock pulled John to his feet and they ran away down the road before anyone grabbed them. Forcefully, John pulled his hand away from Hatter's grip and the pair were able to runaway faster.

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**What do you think of Sherlock as the Mad Hatter?**

**Review please.**


	5. The cat that could smile

**Glad people like this.**

**Enjoy.**

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John continued to run. He did not look back, he just carried on running. After ages of running, he finally started to slow down. John had run from Baker Street and made his way to the park that was a good fifteen-minute walk away. On the far side of the park was a wooded area that he had always intended to explore. However, living with Sherlock, John was lucky if he could have five minutes to drink a nice, warm cup of tea and read the Sunday paper. So, he never did go exploring like he did as a child.

Reaching the woods, he noticed that they were not normal. Unlike the rest of the world that had been painted grey, black or dark green, these trees were a dark crimson red, reminding John of blood. The bark was a monstrous purple, yet that looked strong and noble. John wanted to stop and admire it, but he was unsure if he was still being chased, so decided to continue running, despite how unusual the woods were. This was a very unusual day as it was anyhow.

As John ran through the woods, he couldn't hear a sound but that of his feet on the blood red leaves that were placed upon the ground and his rabid breath. The trees stared as he passed; watching, judging. Some were kind, some were spies, but no one knew the difference as their whispers were carried on the wind, never heard unless they warned you. Their secrets were secret, and none were ever spilled. What happens in the woods, stays in the woods. However, that was before the Red Queen came.

Tripping, John fell to the ground, twisting round and landing on his back. He lay there for a moment, looking up at the grey sky that looked almost violet through the trees. Breathing quickly, he slowly pulled himself to his feet. Looking around, John realised what he was missing.

He'd lost Sherlock.

John cursed. He never thought in a million years that he'd ever outrun Sherlock Holmes. However, that was least of his worries. Now all alone in a strange wood, he suddenly felt more vulnerable than ever.

"Someone seems lost," purred a voice from above. John walked away from a tree and looked up to see a figure in it. He gasped.

"Lestrade! What the –"

"Lestrade? No, no, not me. However, he does sound like a good-looking bloke such as myself... No wonder you got us confused..." he purred, smiling from ear to ear. Studying him, John was surprised that he even recognised him as Lestrade. He wore a tight-fitting striped dark purple and pink top with light purple jeans. Behind him, a striped purple and pink tail twisted in the air. His whiskers were longer than any normal cat's and his purple ears were huge.

"So, you may be who then?" the army doctor asked. He was used to this world a little bit, with all the weird things that it could throw at him. This and he lived with Sherlock. If he could live with that man then he could cope with anyone. The cat peered down at him as if he were interested.

"It's Cheesier to my friends," he said.

"So I should call you what then?"

"_Cheesier_," was the simple reply before he slowly disappeared. The woods became silent as John stood all alone, lost, confused and bewildered at what he had just seen happen. One moment Lestrade was there and then, he was gone.

"Marvellous," John whispered breath-taken and stunned.

"You think that's marvellous," a voice from behind said, and he turned to see Hatter. "Then you haven't seen anything yet," and a smile danced onto the detective's lips as he spoke. Sherlock looked up. "We must move before nightfall comes. Follow me," he said and started to walk away. Leaves almost parted just to let him walk on soft soil, as if he was friend to all, their saviour.

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The Mad Hatter had been right. He hadn't seen anything yet. The sunset was beautiful, different colours of purple, red, orange and deep blue patrolled the sky as the grey clouds started to disappear. Soon, the sky was black with dots of bright burning stars. John couldn't stop staring. No matter what the dodgy Red Queen had done, she could never take away Mother Nature. Sherlock dropped more wood on the burning fire before sitting down beside John.

"Where are you from?" he asked John, studying him. Nothing new there.

"A way away I guess," John replied, eyes still fixed on the sky.

"Did the Caterpillar bring you here by the White Rabbit?" Hatter asked, feeling around in his pockets.

"Yah... Why was Mol- I mean the Mouse surprised to see someone who looks 'normal'?" John questioned, frowning as Sherlock stood up and continued to rummage around inside his pockets.

"Well, you've seen quite a few people round here by now... No one looks like you or me or the White Queen, do they now? Ah!" he cried triumphantly as he pulled a small brown package out of his pocket. Offering it to John he said: "Have as many as you like, I don't eat on cases. They're jam tarts... Hare stole them off the Red Queen... Need to get rid of the evidence don't we now?" He smiled, and John didn't have much of a choice but to take the package and eat the tarts. He was starving and he'd only just realised it.

Tucking in, John realised that it was almost dark.

"I'll take first watch, you rest," Hatter said and walked a little away into the woods. John watched him go and was finally left to think. What was really going on? Why was everyone part human part animal? He was dreaming, he had to be. Nothing this insane could be real, could it? What if it was real? Was it like something out of Doctor Who, with different dimensions? No, children believed in that type of stuff. However, what if it was real? John groaned silently. He was losing grip on reality, he wasn't sure what was real anymore.

"Someone seems lost," Lestrade said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere next to John. Flinching away, John then calmed himself as he realised who it was. "Not sure what's what anymore, am I right?" Cheesier questioned, eyes wide with a smile ear to ear. You could tell that the cat wanted John to say something so that he could continue the conversation on that topic. Cheesier was interested in John even if the army doctor did not know it.

"I guess you could say that," John said in reply, looking back at Sherlock.

"You know, he used to have a friend, the Hatter that is... Never got his name, but they did everything together. He was sent by Caterpillar to make him take a case and keep him on track. Their friendship blossomed from there and onwards," Lestrade explained. He leaned his right shoulder into John's back, forcing him into an uncomfortable position. Looking at Sherlock, John could suddenly see the pain that loomed around him. Cheesier grinned even more. "The friend was beheaded by the Red Queen," he whispered, "the friend died..." Before the cat could finish his sentence, he was forcefully thrown forwards and was met by a glaring John Watson.

"WHY mention this? It has nothing to do with me, none of this does," John shot harshly at Lestrade. Cheesier glared back.

"Because you remind him of that friend in almost every way..." Cheesier said, disappearing again, but this time more like ashes being picked up in the wind instead of slowly turning invisible. John was panting now, as if he was out of breath. Why? What was it about this news that unnerved him?

"You see," Cheesier said, suddenly appearing on the other side of John, causing him to yank away. "This has quite a lot to do with you... Why would The Caterpillar ask for you especially? No, there's a reason you are here... Is it because of your medical history? Your army days?"

"How'd you know that?" John questioned, shocked. Lestrade was reading him like a book, picking out important information. He didn't like that at all.

"Or maybe it's because you look like that friend –"

"Cheesier!" Hatter snapped behind him suddenly. They hadn't heard him approach. "That's enough, leave him be... The day's been confusing for our new friend and we must make this easy for him," Sherlock explained and the cat sulked. Turning back to John, he whispered something before he disappeared, something that Hatter did not catch.

"You'll end up like the friend..." he whispered, the last thing disappearing was his grin. John stared at where Lestrade had just been.

"Cat's can't smile," John said, looking at Sherlock. The man just shrugged.

Suddenly, something smashed through the trees and straight into Hatter's neck. A dart... John jumped to his feet, but was grabbed by men from behind. The last thing John saw before being wacked over the head and falling unconscious was Hatter's body being dragged away by Sebastian Moran.

* * *

The cat had watched it all happen. It was over so quickly that he thought it was a waste of time sticking around to see. 'No fight, no fun' was his motto. He yawned, knowing that no matter how hard they looked, they'd never catch him, not in his woods.

"Maybe I should have warned them that the Red Queen's knights' were coming," he said, before disappearing for quite some time.

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	6. What the Red Queen wants

**Glad your enjoying this.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

His eyes opened slowly. The room was dim, so it was hard to see. There was a dreadful smell of rotten eggs and out of date milk. John knew what out of date milk smelt like as Sherlock had done an experiment once that in the end had made the whole bathroom smell for a week. Shifting uncomfortably, John hit his head against stone. He groaned and propped himself up on the wall. The room was small, but about average size for a cell in a dungeon. When he was little he and his family went to a castle – to save his life he couldn't remember where the castle was – and he and Harry had played around in the dungeons, getting lost and worrying his parents badly.

"Finally you have come round?" a voice in the room said. It was a familiar voice, one that John trusted very much. It was a male voice, so...

"Sherlock?" he said to a dark figure in front of him. The man was sitting on some sort of bench and looking down at him. Straining his eyes in the dim room, John could almost see who it was.

"Never heard of him, but you've got me instead... Hatter, remember?" he said patronisingly. Groaning again, John rubbed the back of his head. When he looked at his hand there was a fine smudged line of blood. John looked questioningly at his head, recalling what happened. He looked to Hatter who had been staring at him. Hatter raised an eyebrow.

"How long have I been out?" John asked dumbly, looking around and trying to see properly.

"According to The Caterpillar, we've both been unconscious for around three days."

"The Caterpillar? Oh, crap," John said and realised where they possibly were.

"Morning short person," said a voice from through the bars of the cell. Turning his head, John could see that across from their cell, was Mycroft, in his own cell. "I feel more than sorry that you have to share a cell with _that _troublemaker. Nevertheless, at least you'll find a way of getting out alive with him," Mycroft said, taking a cigar out and lighting it.

"Do you always have a cigar on you?" John asked, a little confused about how calm he was.

"Yes, why, would you like one?" The Caterpillar offered.

"No," John shook his head, as if his answer was obvious. The Caterpillar shrugged, his body language saying 'your loss'.

"Please," Hatter said suddenly, looking at John. John turned and looked at him and their eyes met. The Caterpillar threw him one through the bars and then his lighter. Sherlock lit his cigar and smoked it happily before throwing back the lighter. He leaned back on the bench smugly. They all sat in silence for a while after that, Sherlock and Mycroft smoking and John looking between the pair of them. Where they staring at each other?

"Sorry," John said breaking the silence, "but am I missing something here?" he said, looking into their eyes one at a time. Hatter sat up.

"We're well know as an odd pair I guess you could say... Forever him the freak and I associated with _him _– as if I'm his carer or something! Cursed I am –"

"You're brothers aren't you?" John said emotionlessly, cutting Mycroft off. The Caterpillar was being far too melodramatic... Very like Mycroft.

The Caterpillar leaned back and straightened his tie. The horrid silence fell upon them and John had no more to say or ask. Sighing, he felt like nothing could be done. His head throbbed and his body ached for staying in one position for too long. The brothers smoked, no longer enjoying it. John stared at the ceiling. What would happen to them?

These past days had been crazy... Mad... _Insane!_ It was all insane! John suddenly noticed the odd feeling in his stomach and wished he were home with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson more than anything. This world was too crazy, too impossible. Half animal, half human? Cat's with could smile? Men who could disappear and reappear? Insane was the perfect word to describe the world he was in.

What was the point in him even being here? He was useless. He couldn't do much. He didn't have a gun and everything was half-animal so their senses would be one up on his.

"Have you done your job short person?"

"What?"

"Have you done your job short person? You cannot go home if you have not done your job," The Caterpillar said, finishing his cigar and blowing a tune of smoke in John's direction. Coughing, John remembered. '_Find The Mad Hatter and convince him to take the case: find out what the Red Queen is trying to steal from the White Queen. You must help him and keep him on track.'_ John cursed in his head. He hadn't even told Hatter what the case was!

"He has... I have a theory of what the Red Queen would like and as the guard come to take me and John here to him, I will know for sure," Sherlock said, throwing the rest of his cigar on the ground and standing up. He straightened out his coat.

"Wait... _him_?" John asked, noticing that one word in his friend's sentence. However, before Sherlock could answer, guards came in, pulled John to his feet and marched both of them out of the ceil.

"Good luck," The Caterpillar cried after them. "The Red Queen makes everyone uneasy in his presence, the ones with less nerves, scared or terrified." John took Mycroft's words in and was feeling a little uneasy already.

* * *

Two giant doors were swung open and closed behind them as John and Hatter were marched into the huge throne room. They were brought to the centre of the room before stopping. The pair were forced to their knees. John was forced down so hard, he thought his kneecaps had shattered against the red marble floor. Looking around, he realised that most of the room was red. The walls were a lighter shade than the floor. The room was bare except for the throne at the other end. Grunting in pain from his knees, he looked down, avoiding the look Sherlock gave him. Whether it was disappointment or sympathy, John was unsure.

"Ah, the amazing Mad Hatter!" came a voice from the throne. John looked up and saw the Red Queen stride proudly in towards them...

And he couldn't help but feeling like killing himself.

"Moriarty... Somehow I'm not surprised," John muttered under his breath. The mad consulting criminal continued to walk forward towards them. He wore tight red trousers with a lighter – pink than red – short sleeved top and a crown. "Who's your friend? I was gonna kill him, but then I thought 'Hatter don't have friends or colleagues or anyone!' Moriarty roared, arms spread wide. John was trying hard to get up and punch him. He was _way_ too melodramatic at times.

John noticed that Sherlock was looking at him to answer the Red Queen's questions. For some reason, he was keeping quite. Was he scared of Moriarty? Was it because he was normal looking? Hatter had said that only he and the White Queen were like that.

"I'm nobody; I've only just met him..."

"Well then, maybe I should just kill you..." The Red Queen said and Sebastian stepped forward, axe in hand. John looked up and then looked down. Why fight all this madness? Maybe he'll go home if he died. It's all just a dream isn't it? He's sure that he'll just wake up to Sherlock playing the violin. He's sure. With one giant swing, the axe came down...

"No don't!" Hatter screamed, fighting against the guard that was holding him. The axe stopped just before it hit Watson's neck and the army doctor let out a long and shaky breath that he had been holding. John didn't look up at Sherlock; somehow he just couldn't. He did, however, look up at Moriarty and saw a look of amusement across his face then a devilish smile slowly creeping across his face.

"Looks like you're not just 'nobody'," he smirked. "Now, what's your name? Does he have one?" he asked Hatter. "I must get myself a pet... So touchy and loyal..." he laughed and so did his guards. Then suddenly, John knew that these people weren't the same people he knew, because they may look the same, but they weren't. He knew, because his Sherlock would have come up with a clever reply, something that was a little bit funny, but also a way to dig deeper into their enemies plan. This Sherlock – Hatter – just looked down and said nothing, the laughter ringing in his ears, as he was humiliated. A flood a relief washed over John was they weren't the same people; weren't his friends. However, something bubbled inside of John as something started to boil.

"Yes I have a name," he suddenly said, cutting through their laughter. As they stopped, Hatter slowly looked up at him. "It's John Watson," he said, standing up despite the guard trying to push him to his knees. "And you're gonna tell me what the hell you want to steal off the White Queen," John hissed through his teeth, his and Moriarty's eyes locked. The ruler's face was grim, as he did not like how he was being spoken too.

"Doesn't matter... The Caterpillar was slow, I've stolen it!"

"And I stole it back off you," Hatter sung gleefully, the whole room suddenly going silent. John shifted from one foot to another, trying to figure out when Sherlock could have stolen anything. "Well, not me personally, but a close ally took the liberty of doing it for me," he said then paused and turned to John. "Don't worry; you can go home now –"

"How did you steal it?!" roared Jim. Hatter looked up, smiling wickedly. John had been so sure that Hatter wasn't Sherlock, but that look in his eyes made him unsure again.

"The exact same way I'm about to disappear in front of you," Hatter said before vanishing. It wasn't like the kids movies where they go in a puff of smoke or anything. One second he was there, the next he wasn't.

Just like one second, John Watson was staring at the Red Queen's outraged face, the next he was in 221b Baker Street.

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	7. The White Queen

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* * *

John blinked, unable to register in his mind what had just happened. He was in front of the Red Queen and now he wasn't. After looking around at the miserable Baker Street, he turned to Hatter.

"I'm not sure what you call it where you're from, but here we call it 'Appearing'. Few people can do it. It's where you _dis_appear from one place and _re_appear in another. Cheesier is the only person around that knows how to do it and dares to do it," Sherlock said nodding past John. The Army Doctor turned to see Lestrade leaning against the door of 221b, still smiling like a loony.

"Happy to help Hatter, always happy to help."

"Only when it saves your skin," said the consultant. "Now beat it puss," Hatter snarled and without another word, Lestrade disappeared. Unsure of what was happening, John just followed Sherlock into the house.

"Sher – HATTER! What in hell is going –"

"John, you can go home now alright? All we have to do is get to the White Queen and she'll send you back. She likes me, so I'm sure she'll do it," Sherlock smiled warmly. John stopped himself from saying anything else. It didn't matter that he wasn't Sherlock. He could still trust him.

"So, how do we get there?" he asked, watching his new friend take things out of his pockets and place them on the table. Small jars of liquids.

"The cab that The Caterpillar has just sent for us will do," Sherlock said, and John looked out of the window.

"You are kidding..." John said as he ran after Sherlock, who was already climbing into the cab.

Stopping at the door, John couldn't help but start to smile. The shape of the vertical was the normal cab shape and car make, but it was pure white. The sky was still grey and everywhere looked miserable, but this car, it stood out like a sore thumb, representing some kind of hope in the world. Smiling, he climbed into the car. As the driver started to drive off, John looked out of the window and saw Lestrade hand out of a window, upside down by his legs, holding a sign.

_You're his dead friend..._

the sign read, and John was reminded of the story of Hatter's friend, and suddenly felt uneasy.

* * *

The ride was a long one that was done in silence – for most of it anyway.

John couldn't get the Hatter's dead friend out of his head. His friend was sent to keep him on track with a case – as he was. They then became good friends and then the friend's head was cut off. He looked over at Hatter. Was what happened to his friend going to happen to him? Would he really get to go home? Was Hatter being nice to him because he reminded him of his friend? Suddenly John realised that _he _was only helping Hatter out because he reminded him of Sherlock, and to get home. Did one ever actually do things to help the other out, or was it for their own selfish gain?

"Where you're from," Hatter suddenly said, cutting through John's thoughts. "Is it nice?" John could sense that he was trying to make a conversation. He really didn't have too.

"Nicer than here," John shrugged. "So –"

"My friend did look a lot like you," Sherlock suddenly said. "You do remind me of him. It's hard to forget him. Usually I'm good at forgetting things, but he just won't leave my mind. He was a good friend and I think I took him for granted," Hatter said, still looking forward, never turning his head even an inch in John's direction. John looked at his hands.

"I have a friend a bit like you where I'm from," he admitted. Hatter actually turned to look at him, John was unable to look up. "You're both arrogant with massive egos," he declared, causing his companion to snicker. "He enjoys a good case!" John said too, the cab then going silent.

"You're not like my dead friend though," Sherlock said, causing John to suddenly look his way. He moved his head a little too fast.

"How come?" John asked, more than a whisper.

"Because you're alive," was the simple three-word reply.

"We're here," said the cab driver.

* * *

Climbing out of the cab, John saw Buckingham Palace. Seriously? Looks like he was going to meet the actual Queen after all. Laughing slightly, he jogged after Hatter into the building. Inside was different to howBuckingham Palace lookedwhere he was from. Inside was pure, crystal white. Everything was white and John was surprised that he could see the furniture, everything blended together.

After about a minute of following Hatter, The Caterpillar came into view up ahead. He stopped and watched as they both walked towards him. Walking past him the brothers shared a nodded. Hatter obviously knew where he was going, as if he didn't need Mycroft to show him around... He wasn't kidding when he said that the Queen liked him. Suddenly Hatter stopped outside a pair of giant doors. Turning to John, he smiled before walking in.

"Oh Hatter dear, what a lovely surprise. Who's your friend?" The White Queen asked, getting off her chair. John's mouth flew open.

The White Queen was Mrs. Hudson.

"Your Majesty," Hatter said, hugging her. "This is John... My new friend," as he said so the Queen was hugging John. Hatter simply rolled his eyes.

"Aren't you a sweetheart helping dear Hatter. Could I offer you some tea? A few biscuits perhaps?"

"I think he'd like to go home," Hatter injected.

"Ah, yes. You're the helper The Caterpillar got. Indeed I'll send you –" before the Queen could finish her sentence she stopped. Not stopped, but was unable to say anymore, as if someone had clicked the mute button on the television. Confused, Hatter and John shared a concerned look.

"Now, now, I spent far too much time trying to steal what you took. I'd like it back," Moriarty said, striding in as if he owned the place. Moran and three more guards walked behind him, guns in hand.

"It's under safe security, in the hands of the finest and protected by the best... I wouldn't bother if I were you," Hatter exclaimed, drawing a gun. Pulling his out slowly, Moriarty's men quickly pointed theirs at the White Queen, which caused John to protectively step in front of her. It was Mrs. Hudson after all.

Feeling on edge and ready to attack or be attacked, John saw that their situation was a bad one. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson gripped his hand from behind tightly. About to reassure her, he then stopped, as she slowly let go. She was leaving something in his hand. Cursing he turned his head slightly and whispered to her.

"When he said in the hands of the finest, he meant you, and protected by the best, he meant me and him?" The White Queen nodded, still muted by something the Red Queen had. _Great, _John thought to himself, _just great._

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**Next chapter is the last.**


	8. All a dream

**Last chapter. Thank you everyone for your support.**

* * *

Their situation was bad.

Five vs three (two really).

Four guns vs one gun.

The room was silent as no one dared fire first. John took this silent opportunity to feel what Mrs. Hudson had put in his hand. It was square and smooth, no sharp edges or corners, yet nothing was rounded off. Had she give him a square? A metal square? What was so important about that? More than he thought, obviously.

"Come, come, where is it?" Moriarty asked, smoothly.

"Um... Not telling," was Hatter's simple reply.

"Oh really?" The Red Queen raised an eyebrow, head tilting. Flicking his wrist, Moran then clicked his gun and aimed perfectly for John, who tensed. "Would you tell me if I shot your Queen's brick wall? I mean, he's the only thing keeping me from shooting her," he said, mischief raising his voice threateningly. Cranking his head to the side, Sherlock then looked round at them.

Then all John Watson saw was blackness... and then a bright light.

* * *

The bright light invaded John's eyes as he found himself looking up at a white ceiling. Groaning he began to sit up. His chest ached and his head hurt as if a train had just run it over. Black spots danced in his vision before disappearing. Rubbing his eyes, he saw the room clearly and saw that he was on a hospital bed. This meant that he was in a hospital.

"Wakie Wakie," said a familiar voice.

"Molly?" John grumbled.

"Don't worry, you're not dead. Well, obviously you're not dead because you're alive, but what I meant is you're not in the morgue where I work, I just came up from there to see how you were and see Sherlo – your fine, I'm just visiting," she rambled on without stopping for breath. John half laughed to himself at how she could talk without breathing for so long. Before he could speack, Sherlock entered the room.

Not Hatter, Sherlock. His, normal, arrogant, consultant detective... Sherlock Holmes.

"Ah John, glad to see you awake. After you had been gone for too long, I ventured out after you. I found you unconscious on the ground. You must have slipped and hit your head. The doctor's say you're fine though," he gave John a reassuring smile.

"T- Thank you...for coming and looking for me," John said looking around. He expected a mouse-tail from Molly, doggy clothes from Sherlock, Moriarty to burst in, but none of it happened.

He was home.

"I'll grab your discharge papers," Molly said. John said his thanks as she left, leaving him and Sherlock alone.

"The doctors said you didn't have that much of a cut on your head, a little blood and a strange bruise on your chest – small and circular like a bullet," Sherlock said, filling him in on his health.

"Sherlock –"

"Hurry up, Chinese is on me," the consultant said, disappearing out the door. Left confused, John saw a change of top. This led him to realise that he had a drop of blood on his shirt.

He rubbed the side of his head and felt a bump from where he must have hit his head. Sighing he took his top off and noticed the bruise on his chest. Utterly clueless as to how it got there he slipped his other top on and then his jacket. Feeling his pockets, he felt his phone and his keys there and... frowning, he reached into his left pocket and took out the metal square...

_Suddenly, one of Moriarty's guards came from nowhere and whacked Hatter round the back of the head. Making one sudden move to run towards him, John found himself shot. The shot rang out. John slopped down onto his knees. He then fell sideways and hit his head on the bottom of the throne. As darkness took him, he gripped the square with all his might._

John shook his head.

He walked out and on the way signed his discharge papers. Then he and Sherlock strolled out to get Chinese, putting it all behind him.

It was all a dream, wasn't it?

* * *

Up on a rooftop, a woman with rabbit ears looked down on John and his friend.

"The Caterpillar will be pleased to see him home alright," she said as she watched the pair get into a cab and drive off. "He probably thinks it was all a dream," she said, smiling to herself.

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